


Die A Few Times

by waltzmatildah



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-08
Updated: 2012-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-29 04:55:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/316053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waltzmatildah/pseuds/waltzmatildah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post 3.10 AU. <i>He loses himself in the dead end miles between one sleepy town and the next. Contemplates what Denver might have to offer and can’t quite reconcile whether he’s meant to be excited about the prospect or not.</i></p><p>Prompt: You have to die a few times before you can live...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Die A Few Times

He fists his fingers into the hem of his t-shirt and stares out the bus window into the endless nothing. Black on black on inky, midnight black. The cloud cover is low; rain paints abstract images on the fogged glass in front of him. Faces of things, nameless things, that seem just out of his reach.

He presses his nose hard against the glass in an attempt to see through them.

Feels them leach in through his skin instead. Unfathomable.

Exhales and they disappear in a sudden cloud of his own breath.

 

 

 

He loses himself in the dead end miles between one sleepy town and the next. Contemplates what Denver might have to offer and can’t quite reconcile whether he’s meant to be excited about the prospect or not.

His cell phone is a heavy weight in his pocket. The allure of something tangible.

There’s a list of names in his contacts as he thumbs the screen back and forth, back and forth. Dead people.

Alive people.

The names of those that are neither.

 

 

 

The bus stops for twenty minutes somewhere just outside of St. Louis. He does three laps of the vehicle with his hood pulled up and wonders how much effort it would take to simply cut and run.

Feels something heavy clamp down on the urge almost as quickly as it had appeared.

Lines up diligently and re-takes his seat.

He gets replies to the messages he’d sent. They’re cheerful and they make him grin in a way that feels completely absurd.

He’d laugh but he’s not entirely convinced he’d have the composure to stop once started.

There is only one message that goes unanswered. But he’d not been expecting a reply, and its absence changes nothing in the end.

 

 

 

He’s got a guide book in his lap that details all the things Denver has to offer. A last minute ‘gift’ from his sister. He’d managed to roll his eyes at her and make it almost feel real.

Maybe it was.

Bold transcript, gold and blue, proclaims the virtues of the Mile High City.

Impossibly cool snowboarders with the whitest teeth he thinks he’s ever seen. A museum of Science and Nature. The Rocky Mountains, towering above like sentries, forever on guard.

He thinks he might like to ascend to the peak of the closest one and march his way north as far as the Canadian border. Up and over and one foot in front of the other.

Perpetual motion.

 

 

 

The terminal in Denver is harshly lit. Bare fluorescent strips divide the ceiling above into uneven squares. And the cold invades the cavern in his chest. A hollowed out space he hadn’t even realised needed filling.

She’s right where he'd asked her to be. A comforting realisation envelopes him; he’d not for a moment doubted she’d be anywhere else.

Pressed up against the transit lounge wall, she’s so much and nothing at all like his sister in the same strangling breath. She tilts her head a little to the left and laughs as he drags his backpack over his shoulder, shatters the illusion in a beat.

He’s inexplicably grateful for the fact.

“Hello, _Jeremy_.” A purr. Nothing less.

He can feel his pulse tapping out a wild ride in his chest. Electric.

“Hello, Katherine.” Pointed. Looks her square in the eyes as he says it. He is not a helpless teenage boy to her, not anymore, and he has no reason to look anywhere else.

 

 

 

She’s got a car parked in the rain damp lot outside. He doesn’t bother to ask if it’s stolen. Knows the answer implicitly. She is what she is and she makes no apologies for the fact. The change is refreshing.

“So,” she starts, ever inquisitive, “first things first. I’m _so curious_ to hear what you did to deserve the sudden deportation.”

Her gaze slides over him, physical in its strength. She’s smirking. He thinks; she already knows.

 _She already knows everything._

She always does.

 

 

 

He waits until she’s somewhat distracted by the traffic. Wipers flashing shadows across the planes of her face as she changes lanes on instinct.

“My family?”

“Taken care of,” she confirms tacitly. Doesn’t bother to take her eyes off the road.

 _Of course_ , he thinks. Relieved.

 _Pleased_.

While the ease with which he’s managed to carry out his duplicity is a welcome relief, the full weight of what he’s achieved has yet to be fully reconciled. Shot glasses filled to slightly overflowing with a heady mix of vodka and vervain.

“In that case,” he adds, “we can skip the gossip session.”

She turns her head at that. Eyebrows raised, twin arches of surprise.

He finds pleasure in his ability to knock her sideways an inch or several.

 

 

 

It had been her number, scrolling across his screen amid myriad others, that had drawn his attention most readily. All those countless miles and nameless towns ago. Nothing more than a means to an end; he rationalised she’d be more than pleased by the notion.

 

 

 

“ _First things first_ ,” he counters pointedly. Throws her own opening line right back into the humming space that shifts and shudders between them. Holds his breath before; “We even the playing field.”

If his request shocks her, she doesn’t show it. Game face firmly back in place.

She slows to a stop for a red light, one of the first she’s bothered to obey as they’ve wound their way through the city. The iridescent glow lights the vehicle’s interior. Sets it on fire; a swath of flame that haloes her silhouette.

A fitting paradox of sorts as she resettles her weight, turns to face him, lips wicked into a knowing smile.

“I thought you’d never ask.”


End file.
